Bedtime Stories
by timelords-and-deductions
Summary: Sherlock hardly ever sleeps a wink. John bets him that he can make him sleep. John realizes that he is falling in love with Sherlock, but has no idea what to do. Johnlock.
1. Breakfast and a scarf

It was dark, and the wind howled through the trees in London. And there, in the window of 221B, was Sherlock. He stood there, tall and strong, elegantly playing a sodden tune on violin, late into the hours of the night. As he played, he thought about a murder that had been bothering him for days. A man killed in the middle of a park in broad daylight, yet no one saw anything attack him. And not only that, but the man had seemed to put up absolutely no sign of struggle against his attacker, whoever it was. Sherlock sighed. He quietly placed down his violin and walked into the kitchen, to look over those blood samples once again. No signs of anything fatal as far as he could tell. The hours ticked by as Sherlock sat there, studying the samples, and before he knew it, it was morning. It often happened to him. He never got much sleep. He continued studying the samples, until John sauntered sleepily down the stairs.

""Jesus Sherlock, up all night again?"" John said, rubbing his eye.

Sherlock looked at him. Obviously he hadn't slept well last night, he could tell that from the bags under his eyes and the rumpled hair. Possibly reading? No, the slight tremble proved otherwise. Ah, John's nightmares were at it again. John had slept well for weeks before this. I wonder what happened, Sherlock thought. Maybe th-

""Sherlock?""

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by a sleepy John wondering why Sherlock hadn't responded yet.

""What? Oh, yes. I was studying the victim's blood.""

John sighed.

""Sherlock, when was the last time you got a full nights sleep?""

Sherlock thought. When WAS the last time? He had had lost of naps here and there, but the last time he had a FULL nights sleep?

""I don't know..."" Sherlock thought aloud.

John groaned.

""Well Sherlock, tonight, you will get a full nights sleep."" John decided.

Sherlock was quiet for a while, before answering

""How in the hell are you gonna do that?""

John thought.

""I'm not exactly sure. I'll think of something, i'm sure.""

Sherlock chuckled. John could be so daft sometimes.

""Well, when you find out, please do let me know.""

And with that, Sherlock left the kitchen, and grabbed his coat and scarf off the coat hanger. He pulled both on, and began to walk down the stairs of 221B, leaving John just sitting there in the kitchen. He tried to ask where Sherlock was going, but it was too late. John heard the door close and then, he was alone. Quietly, he got up and proceeded to make himself some breakfast, thinking all the while about how he could make Sherlock sleep a full night.

""Watch him until he sleeps?"" John began to mumble, ""No, he is very good at faking. And I would probably fall asleep before him. Perhaps I could lock him in his room?"" John found no problem with that, until he realized that Sherlock had things to do in his room. Things like, not sleeping. John sighed. He spread jam on his toast and sat down. Picking up a newspaper, he began to read about all the things going on in the world. Almost none of it was as interesting as what he did with Sherlock. Almost. Minutes passed as he read the news, learning of the happenings in the world, and his mind began to wander. At first it was all nothing really, he thought about the case last week and Lestrade and his pub night a while back, but then he began to think about Sherlock. Sherlock, and his coat collar turned up to perfectly frame those cheekbones, and that hair, oh that hair, And those lips. Oh, the things he would do to those li-

John snapped out of his fantasy. What was he doing? Sherlock was his flatmate, and John was not gay. Right? Yes, right. John put the newspaper down and finished his breakfast. Putting his plate in the sink to be washed later, he began to hum a happy tune, and went to sit in his chair and read for a small while, at least until Sherlock was back.

Sherlock walked around the cold streets of London, deducing people as he went along. He often took walks to try to keep his mind busy when he wasn't on a case. He saw a woman whose husband was cheating on her with her best friend, and a man who had a heart illness, but he had no idea. After about two hours of walking around London, Sherlock decided it was time to go home. He walked slowly back home, when he saw something in a store window. Sherlock usually didn't go shopping, but for John, maybe just this once. It was a lovely grey scarf, cashmere the tag said, and it was just the perfect length to wrap around John's head twice. Sherlock walked into the store and quickly bought it, deciding to maybe save it for John's birthday, or Christmas, or some special occasion. Then, content with his walk, he went home.

John soon grew tired of reading. Sherlock had been gone for 2 hours, much longer than he usually is. John sighed and put down his book. Turning on the telly, he flipped through the channels, trying to find something somewhat interesting to watch. He eventually settled on Doctor Who. It was one of the ones with David Tennant and Billie Piper, and John hadn't seen this episode before. He squirmed around a little until he was more comfy, and then sat and began to watch until Sherlock got home. The episode had almost finished by the time Sherlock ran up the stairs and pulled off his coat and scarf. He quickly hid the box with the scarf behind the coat hanger, then proceeded to plop himself down on the couch and sprawl out.

""Good time out?"" John asked.

""Hmm."" Sherlock replied.

John smiled and turned his attention back towards Doctor Who. It was wrapping up quite nicely and it was about to finish when Sherlock shouted

""Could you turn that off?""

""Its almost over, give it a second.""

Sherlock grumbled. John did so enjoy those BBC shows. He wiggled and tried to get somewhat comfortable on the couch, when Doctor Who finally ended.

""See Sherlock, that didn't seem to take too long, did it?""

Sherlock didn't reply. He simply sat there, trying to access his mind palace. He had thought of something that might help with finding the murderer, and he needed to see the files on it. And that was how the afternoon in 221B went, with John reading (again) quietly in his chair, and Sherlock on the couch, thinking.


	2. In which a plan is made

The afternoon was calm, and before long, it was nighttime. It was when dusk fell that John began to realize that he had still not thought of a way to make Sherlock sleep all night. So he put his book down and, once again, tried to think of ideas. Maybe he could tie Sherlock to the bed? No, no what is Sherlock had to pee? That would not work at all. Sherlock could sleep in the bed with him?

John's eyes grew wide.

No, no, no. Sherlock was a friend, a flatmate, and not a love interest. But no matter how much he thought, his mind kept coming back to that conclusion. He sighed. Well, as long as nothing happened, and Sherlock was alright with it, it was normal, right? Yes, normal. Nothing odd at all about sleeping in a bed with your flatmate. But still, John decided to go for it, and he sighed out before saying,

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"So, I was thinking about how to make you sleep a full night,"

"Hmmm?"

"And I thought maybe it would be best if you slept in my bed?"

Sherlock was quiet. An eerie silence filled the flat, and John had never felt more awkward.

"You mean..." Sherlock spoke, "In your bed..."

"Yes," John replied.

John was about to die of awkwardness.

"With you?" Sherlock questioned,

John squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, yes, I suppose," John said quietly and hurriedly.

Sherlock looked at him for about a minute before looking away and saying

"Alright."

John was quiet. Had Sherlock really just said alright to that idea? Well, yes, he had, but REALLY? John couldn't believe it. But it doesn't mean anything, John kept telling himself, nothing at all.

"Alright?" John questioned just making completely sure that he hadn't misheard.

"Yes, alright," Sherlock replied, sounding a little annoyed. "I said alright and generally when people say alright they do indeed mean alright."

John chuckled at Sherlock's sudden testiness.

Sherlock sat on the couch, thinking about what had happened. John had really just asked him to sleep in his bed? What an odd request. But it was John, after all, and John seemed to know what he was doing. So Sherlock decided to divert his attention to other subjects, like what would he wear? He often slept naked, when he slept. Maybe he had some sort of thing to wear to bed. He stood up to go and make sure that he did have something to wear after all. If not, possibly he could borrow something from John. He walked into his room and flipped on the light. He searched through his wardrobe frantically, muttering to himself about how he really needs to clean his room. But god, he hated cleaning. Finally, he found something that was comfy enough to wear to bed. It was a light grey collared tee, and it was one size too big. It was a college gift from his roommate for his birthday, many years ago. He smiled and slipped into that, and decided that loose fitting pants were good enough cover on his legs. He then flipped off the light and returned to the living room, where sadly, John no longer was. Sherlock quickly decided that John had most likely gone to get ready for bed. Figuring that he should probably follow, Sherlock walked up the steps towards John's bedroom. He got a little nervous, he noted, as he walked up the steps, and he couldn't figure out why.

"John's a friend, a flatmate," Sherlock muttered to himself, "Why should I be nervous?" And with that, he opened the door and walked in. He saw John, wearing a flannel shirt and sweatpants, sitting on the bed with his computer in his lap, typing. Most likely on a blog entry. Sherlock smiled at John, even though John hadn't looked up yet. It was odd, the way Sherlock was feeling, and he only ever recalled a feeling like this once before, but he couldn't remember quite when. He crawled into bed and began trying his hardest to remember when he had felt this before.


	3. The First Night

John made some tea and got into his nightclothes, a flannel shirt and grey sweatpants. He yawned as he went to his bedside table to place the tea down and grab his computer to update his blog. He lay down in his bed and began to type. He was writing about the case they had last week, the one with the stolen gem, and he almost didn't realize when Sherlock crawled into bed next to him. That is, until he heard that familiar voice say

"Hello John."

John turned his head towards Sherlock. He was wearing a collared shirt and loose fitting pants. His hair was rumpled and scruffy, looking as if he had just woken up. John thought he looked lovely like this. That is, if he wasn't my flatmate, and if I was gay, John quickly thought to himself. John noticed that he must've been taking an awfully long time to respond, so he simply said"Hello, Sherlock," and smiled at him.

Sherlock quickly smiled at John and then looked around the room. It was fairly clean, but with a slight amount of clutter here and there. Most of the clutter was composed of medical studies and files, and the occasional picture. He decided that he rather liked John's room.

John went back to typing soon after Sherlock had looked away from him. But, to be quite frank, typing was getting rather boring. So he decided to put it away for the night. He closed down his computer and placed it on his bedside table. It felt a little odd having Sherlock in his bed like this, so in attempt to make it a little less awkward, John said,

"So Sherlock, any progress on the case?"

Sherlock looked at John with those piercing green eyes and replied,

"No, not much. The only way that the attacker could've killed her without being noticed is a way that would kill her slowly, but without many side-effects. That narrows it down a fair amount, but not enough. I will need to run more blood tests before I can figure out what they may have used."

John looked at him. That was insane. I mean, Sherlock did it all the time, but every time, John still thought it was spectacular.

"Sherlock, that was brilliant."

Sherlock laughed.

"Yes John, I know."

Then it got quiet once again. John picked up his tea and began to sip it, and Sherlock just sat there observing. After about 10 minutes, John finished his tea, and put it next to his computer, to take the mug down in the morning. He turned off the light, and turned over to face Sherlock.

"G'night Sherlock," John murmured.

Sherlock grunted in reply. The night was dark, and the wind howled outside, and Sherlock could'nt sleep. He never could. The world just seemed so interesting at night. It was quiet and eerie, and in the dark, everything seemed so much more exhilarating. Sherlock loved the night, and he found it a shame to waste it sleeping. He sat up and was about to try to leave as quietly as possible, but then he looked at the man lying next to him. His face was so soft when he was asleep, and he was curled up just slightly. He just looked so relaxed, in a way that he never did during the day. Sherlock looked at him, and felt that warm feeling again. Lying back down to face John, he closed his eyes, and was about to drift off into sleep, when he heard a slight whimper. He opened his eyes quickly, and saw John, but he looked different. His face was stressed, and his hand was clenched in the blankets. Maybe h- oh. It was his nightmares. John let out another whimper, followed by what sounded like a "no," but it was hard to make out. Sherlock tried to think of something to do, but he could'nt. Eventually he just decided to shake John awake.

"John, JOHN!" Sherlock shouted, shaking him. "Its okay, wake up! You're safe here, okay John?" Sherlock was almost panicking.

John shook awake and with a cry of fear, jolted upright in his bed. His breaths were short and hurried, and his body was tense and stiff. He let out a sigh and his head fell into his hands. He took a few deep breaths, before lifting his head back up and falling back down onto the bed.

"John, are you okay?!" Sherlock asked, worriedly.

"Yea, yeah, I jus- just need a minute," John replied shakily. They sat in silence for a matter of minutes, and John then decided to say,

"Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled at him quickly before lying back down to try to sleep once again.

"Night, John." Sherlock murmured.

"Night" John replied.

And then they both drifted off silently into sleep.


	4. The Morning After

The morning light flittered through the window in John's bedroom, causing John to stir. He yawned and sat up, looking over to his side. Of course, Sherlock had already gotten up. John got out of bed and pulled on a white robe over his nightclothes and picked up the mug from the previous night, and walked down the stairs. Sherlock sat in the kitchen, with a freshly brewed cuppa and the morning news. He was already dressed, wearing his purple shirt and usual black pants.

"Morning Sherlock," John said happily.

"Morning," Sherlock replied.

John peered at what section of the paper Sherlock was reading.

"Murder, eh? Now what inspired you to do that?" John asked.

"Hmm, might be some interesting unsolved cases,"Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock, you are on a case right now," John said, a little exasperated.

"Yes, but as I am getting nowhere with that one until Molly is in the morgue, I am looking for cases that I could possibly solve quickly."

John simply hummed in response. He sat down while waiting for his water to boil and began thinking about last night. It wasn't so bad, John thought, actually, it was somewhat nice. Now, if John was being completely honest with himself,he would admit that it was a lot more than just somewhat nice. If he was being completely honest with himself, he would admit that it was the best night he had had in a while, despite the nightmare, and that he would very much like for it to happen again. John decided not to think about this right now. The kettle had boiled while he was thinking, and hurried to make his tea.

"When exactly will Molly be in the morgue," John asked, continuing he and Sherlock's previous conversation.

"Later today. I am meeting her there at noon, you are welcome to join me," Sherlock replied.

John nodded and said, "Sure, it's always nice to see Molly," before returning to finish making his tea. He sat down beside Sherlock and looked at him. Sherlock was a very attractive person, he wasn't going to lie. He had that nose and those eyes, god one could just get lost in those eyes an-

God damn it. John was doing it again. Sherlock was a flatmate, John. Nothing more. He is married to his work, remember? Of course. Yes. Good, John thought.

Sherlock read the paper, and figured out at least three of the murders. Perhaps he could phone Lestrade later and tell him. He looked over at John, who was kind of just sitting there. Perhaps he had zoned out? Yes, that was it. Wonder what he is thinking about, thought Sherlock. He looked back at his paper and continued reading. As he read, he thought about last night. Last night sleeping hadn't been ENTIRELY unpleasant. He wouldn't mind doing it again, if the need ever came to be. He put his paper down and looked at his watch. It was only 10 still, so still 2 hours until he was able to go to the morgue. Sherlock sighed. He got up and decided that, even though he did find those shows that John watched tedious, perhaps one would help pass the time. He walked over to the couch and lay down. HE switched the telly on, and the first thing that came up was another one of those Doctor Who episodes. The doctor was a brunette fellow, and his companion was red-haired and sassy, is what sherlock noted after the opening titles played.

"Is that Doctor Who?" Johns voice shouted from the kitchen.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock replied.

John quickly stood up and put his cup in the sink, and went over and sat in his favorite chair.

"Oh! This one had Donna and The Tenth Doctor!" He exclaimed.

Sherlock huffed in reply. They sat there watching the episode, it featured Agatha Christie (Somewhat interesting at least), and a giant bee (Unrealistic. Boring.) But, nonetheless, Sherlock sat and continued watching. He didn't know why. But John seemed so happy that he was watching, maybe that was why. Odd, Sherlock thought, why is that? He had never had any interest in the things John liked before. By the time te episode was over, it was nearly 11. John checked the clock and ran to go and get showered and dressed so that he may accompany Sherlock to the morgue. Sherlock sat in the kitchen while he did this, trying to think of things other than John, without much success. That feeling, he wanted to say that it was love, but he couldn't. Because that would hurt too much. Because John was most definitely not gay. Sighing, Sherlock stood up and put on his coat and scarf and waited for John to be ready. John came running down the stairs from his room 5 minutes later, wearing a plad button-down shirt and jeans. He threw on his jacket, and saw an odd little box behind the coat hanger. Making a mental note to check what it was later, he put on his shoes and told Sherlock he was ready to go. Sherlock got up and walked out the door with John, to head to the morgue.


End file.
